Shards of memory
by Gamma Cavy
Summary: She's sure that most of those cursed with red eyes do not remember other lives, like the sewer rat outside. But she remembers quite well that he was never normal. Companion fic to A Hundred Cycles and Walking the Years.


Gazing into the mirror, the flashes come as they always have, triggered by the reflection of clear scarlet in her eyes. They didn't make much sense when she was younger, but now, now when she has taken up a sword for the first time, now that she is older, sense has begun to emerge at last.

 _Sister, sister with the fan, sister who takes discipline into your hands. So lovely and tainted, stained in my blood and grief. I tried so hard to keep you from pain, but in the end I only caused it._

 _Now here we are again._

She catches the flash, examines it, makes it her own, and stows it in the back of her memory, raising her eyes to the glass once again, and lets her mind drift.

 _Lady, my lady, little mistress, youngest sister, I failed, I left you. Setting out I swore to bring back what you most treasured. Mistress you must understand, love and good intentions can't compensate for terrible acts even driven by madness, and I was not. In the end, we are judged by the results we bring about, willing or not, and I was oh so willing, using your grief as an excuse. There's no point in asking forgiveness for what can't be forgiven, though no-one else remembers what I've done._

 _I have another chance, and I will not waste it._

Her younger sister, _Little Mistress_ , had not been so before. With memory came love and duty strong enough to drown in. Raising her gaze once again, the mirror held no more secrets for the day.

Time to go pretend to be normal. To chafe under the restraints of society, with the one face of liberty that was her rebellion. Sweets.

A new addition to the house, a child of six carrying a stuffed rabbit, and two waves rise at once.

 _Cursed and cast out, bad-luck bringer, an outstretched hand, an offer to become a weapon, to be taken into service. My lord, I will repay your protection with my life._ Runs one, but the other:

 _A dark-haired girl falling, I stand over her threateningly, hiding my shock. She is the darker fiercer image of pain-grief-lied-White One- I promised, at last a clue, I pay my debts. Who and how and why? Is she the one? The Alice I must save? Defiance against me, to protect her, what is this boy?_

Unsettled, she stows those away for later, holding them fiercely. She will not be held prisoner by the depths of her own mind!

As the years pass, more flashes come, triggered by the oddest of things.

A raven on the garden wall: _feather hair and yellow eyes, raven colors, the other child from then? Opportunity clue, mirror of my past, and so I know what to say. Offer him that which was offered me and he will dance to my tune. Easy, so easy, weepy little boy grown strong, reject me I deserve it, why do you not turn away? Idiot, now you are mine, as feathers of fire surround us. Divided loyalty resolved, pride in my student, fly little Raven!_

A toy mouse: _deceiver, mad child from then, grown taller but not older, we-of-the-eyes-are-obsessive, loathing, disgust, SEWER RAT! Looking to the past, might as well I'll die anyway, scolding screaming Grow Up!_

But what to make of these pieces? What do they mean? If it were another curse of the eyes, she's sure others with the same curse would have talked. _Sanest of us all I am, and that's a worrying thought_ , and children are so flutter-brained. Someone would have spoken of the nightmares.

Gazing out the window thoughtfully, the sun shines through a cloud and into her left eye, and it's blinding painful light brings another one searing back.

 _Shining radiant white, who is this girl, Alice? Giggles, laughing dolls, only madness rules here! Taunting, laughing at my grief, she killed her own defender, who she thanked for me. Who and why? Agony, my eye my eye my eye! I will never forgive her, licking her fingers and my stolen eye clean of my blood, screaming at the new child. A desperate plea, a promise made, the past will change, a wish for a wish…_

She wrenches away from that one, refusing to be ruled by it. But things are clearer now, as if that one was a key.

Two travelers stay nearby, one who calls up the flashes of _student-raven-motherhen-too-caring-for-his-own-good_ , and another, whom she has seen before, but never in a flash of his own. _Defiant stands before me, I cannot see the truth of him, how can he be so? He sees too deeply, too well, go away you brat, I don't want to love you! Too many will already be hurt by my death, I will NOT add you to the list as well!_

 _Too late too late, defends me, I don't deserve this, stop making me care about you, defiant on my behalf, how_ _ **dare**_ _he hug me? Yes yes, I admit it; I care for him, what a nice pair of twisted doomed people we make. For the three of them I'll tell my story. They need the lesson._

 _Mustn't let the servant of two masters return to him, too late, I'm always too late, why would that change now, captured defending him, ah Gilbert has freed him. One step on the other side, I hear his voice. Ah, I still can't die, must open the path. Good luck you two, I see him even blind, go on, lying through my teeth, I have my pride. I hear them gone, up the stairs and away to the past._

 _Failing, falling, do what I could not you brat. I believe in you._

Returning from that one, tears burn her eyes and she turns away from the window. It's not time to meet Oz _he's alive!_ Again.

Not until she gets this straight. Back to the mirror, back to its secrets. Pale blond hair silvered in the light, lavender stained by the sunset, _I will repay my lord._ But there is another reflection in the memories, one besides this. She shifts, before the light is lost, and it falls across her left eye. _Lone red eye, the other stolen, cover my shame, don't tell the world what is gone_.

 _Kevin Legnard._

 _Xerxes Break._

 _Mad Hatter._

 _Lady Madeline._

And she is whole. At last, the jigsaw puzzle of old and new pieces fits together. She smiles, turning away. She's sure that most of those cursed with red eyes do not remember other lives, like the sewer rat outside.

Ah, but then, she remembers quite well that he was never normal.

Perhaps she will evade her guards and watch them tomorrow. He would rather like to know how the two of them have been reunited once more.

Now then, reveal herself to them, or not?

Not yet anyway, he decides. She'll wait and watch.

Toying with Oz is so much fun, she finds. It's no surprise, he remembers it always was. Even if she had not known him she would have enjoyed his company, rejoicing in having an equal. _An equal. He sees me for what I am, he understands, and he is not revolted._ A fellow conspirator, who saved her sister _little mistress_ , from a nasty fall _could have broken her neck that's two I owe_ , and brings such a _del_ ight _f_ u _l_ target for teasing with him.

But at the same time the presence of this boy out of confused other memory confuses her more still. The flashes are misty, impressions and feelings, not knowledge, and the presence of a wholly unchanged Oz confuses them and her. How? She should know the answer to his continued existence, but it will not come clear.

He knows one thing though. The brat has never died. The brat will never die.

She's sure of another thing as well: Oz knows that he is her.

How _very_ awkward.

Ah well, she'll just have to see how long they can draw out this dance of knowledge. She knows him, remembers him, but will not allow it to be to obvious that he remembers.

And he _typically uncute_ , recognizes this.

His poor student becomes their dancing ground, and is confused as ever, caught between the two of them. Six months they carry on, and it's only when her parents inform her that, saved sister or no, the boy is not an acceptable marriage prospect _how disgusting_ that he considers bringing the game to an end.

Even if that will stop the fun, the way it ends will be a point for her. In losing, admitting openly, she will have won.

Ah, but then he discovers Oz has other ideas.

"Lady," Oz calls her, never by any name, as she and her sisters have tea with _the bra_ t and his companions, "I have a present for you."

She pauses in toying with her cake, eyeing him. "Oh?"

Elder sister reaches for her fan as if sensing something. He readies herself to dodge.

"Yes," the brat replies with that sunny grin, the one that he remembers means trouble. "I've been keeping it for a while, until I found the right person to give it to."

A small thing wrapped in cloth lands on the table.

Elder sister grasps the fan. Seaweed looks bewildered, sensing something between them.

She carefully pulls at the cloth wrapping. Oz is far too pleased with himself, and this worries him.

Bit by bit, the _present not good he's up to something_ is revealed.

First, something pink, with the occasional dried bloodstain… _Could it be…_

Brown strands… _He didn't…_

Red-purple bow. More stains… _Is it…_

Blue skin. Painted grin. _He did. How sentimental of him._

Green eyes are staring at him intently across the table, gaze fixed on him. Her. She doesn't know at the moment which one he is.

"A doll," sister _mistress_ speaks, as seaweed stares in shock.

"How thoughtful." She says flatly. "Just what I've always wanted."

"What will you call her," Oz asks, and for a moment it's as if there's nothing else in the world except the two of them.

 _Grasp the doll, as I have a thousand times before, lift her to my shoulder, and remind her of the rules for the day, carefully brushing her hair every night, replacing the bow, leaving her behind as that cat takes Alice and I, hanging chained and in darkness, no painted eyes to see through, shoulder unaccustomedly light, Baskerville child taunting, bringing her back to me. Escape, my lady returns her again, walking to my death with pride, eternal companion by my side._

He smiles, lifting the little blue doll to the accustomed place on her shoulder. Well played dear pest. Well played.

"What to call her…" She frowns in pretend thought, knowing they both know the answer. "I think I shall call her… Emily."

He laughs as a certain seaweed-head falls face first into the cake.

* * *

 **A.N. : So I wasn't exactly planning to write anything more in this series, or anything at all until my carpal tunnel syndrome improves, but our dear Hatter popped into my head and handed me this, demanding I write it.**

 **His excuse for how she remembers his life despite the rebirth and lack of patient Chain keeping a backup copy of his memories (the way Oz is for Gil), is that Mad Hatter was part of his soul until White Alice tore it out and made a chain of Abyss negation for him to kill her with. He swears that when he died, that part of him rejoined the whole, but due to having been a Chain, the memories stored in that part of his being were sealed and couldn't be reformatted by the Hundred Cycles. He argues that the way he always revives when he summons Mad Hatter - despite the fact that it's killing him - is evidence of this. See Retrace 75: Reverberate, for proof. The moment power comes back on to the Chains contracted through the Rainsworth Door, he's revived and on his feet, able to fight.  
**

 **In case it wasn't clear, the italics are always Break memory or lingering Break voice, not simply a way of showing thought. Likewise the male-female pronoun shifts are to hint at which half of the self is more prevalent at the moment, Lady Madeline, or Xerxes Break.  
**


End file.
